Credence
by BatPersonBirdYeah
Summary: Helen and Daria struggle with work, family, life, and health.


It was the third consecutive Saturday that Helen had worked for at least twelve hours at her firm. No giant case was on her plate, but Dave's retirement was coming up soon, leaving an opening for partner that the firm wanted to fill. Helen was more qualified and more experienced than everyone else at the firm who hadn't made it yet, but she just needed to seal the deal by showing, once again, how dedicated she was. She had succeeded in major cases this year, she had said all the right things to the right people. This was the year.

After going from seven in the morning to seven at night for another day, Helen wiped her eyes, took a last sip of coffee, and got up from her desk with her briefcase in hand. Before she could actually leave the office, however, she went into her bathroom to apply a bit more makeup. The fact that her looks could be a determinant in whether or not she was made partner was something that would have disgusted Helen when she was younger, but doublethink had kept her functional enough (though sometimes things broke through her defenses).

And so the woman leaving her dully brown office showed few signs of the wear and tear that lack of rest was doing to her. She still could pretend that she was younger, still smile and greet people better than anyone else. She had this. She walked out of her office and down the hallway feeling better than she had in months. She glanced out of one of the few windows in the old, brown walled, plain building and saw the Texas sun descending and turning the horizon gold. She had grown tired of the heat, but it was more beautiful than what people had told her. She stopped for a moment to admire the sight when she was approached by one of her co-workers.

"Oh, Helen, lovely seeing you tonight," said Daniel Paul. A man plain enough in every fashion to accurately reflect the building better than anyone else. "Storing up some of that midnight oil finally?"

"No, I've been burning it early instead," Helen laughed.

"Yeah, the early dark is the one that gets us sometimes," Paul said as he moved to look outside as well. "Being from SLC, I'm never going to get over the winters here, but there are pluses."

"Say, Dan," Helen opened. Paul had only worked here for a few years, but he still knew some people, so it couldn't hurt. "Have you heard anything about who's taking over Dave's position?"

"Oh yeah, that. Don't quote me on this, but people are saying that it's Kyle Anderson."

"An-Anderson?" Helen said not comprehending.

"Yeah, I don't know if it's a done deal yet, but that's what people 'in-the-know' are saying. Say, Helen, do you want to go out for a drink sometimes?" Paul asked as he missed a variety of signals on Helen's hands and face that she did not want to have a drink.

"Umm, no, thank you, Paul. I have to get going," Helen said with her heart beating faster and faster and her chest tightening. She moved away from the window and moved like a blur past the oppressive looking walls.

She reached her car, closed the door behind her, grabbed the wheel and started sweating. All of the thoughts that had come to her too often were coming to her again. She took a few deep breaths and tried to think of why it might not be true or why it wouldn't matter and things would be okay, but nothing calmed her stress. She sat clutching the wheel of her car for a few moments trying any rational way to clear her head, but had to just start the car and start heading home while trying not to think about it at all.

* * *

"Daria, how was your day?" Helen asked at dinner with no reduction in her strain. She had not told anyone of the news and was failing to get it out of her head. Her husband and youngest daughter looking at their phones was not helping the throbbing.

"Today we learned about the incredible tool of division in math. Putting all that money into football really is helping the school system," Daria said as she listlessly pushed her fork around her empty plate with her stomach growling for more.

"Daria, do you want me to put you in private school? Because your father and I can do that if you're not getting the education you need at Highland," Helen said with an edge to her voice.

"Yeah, I definitely want to go to hang out with kids buying grades who can make fun of me for not being rich along with everything else. I'm sure places that cater to those people are super in the teaching department as well."

"Daria, do you ever see anything but the downside to things?" Helen said in utter exasperation and irritation. "Sometimes, when you actually do things, there's both good and bad."

"Yeah, there will be good like being able to get a job where you work seventy hours a week," Daria said feeling seriously not well and taking out the frustration with state of being on her mother.

"Well, thank you for your enthusiasm, Daria," Helen said rising from the table feeling ready to burst as she picked up her plate and set in the sink with force that was beneficial for the plate's existence but was at a level far below what she would have liked at that moment. "I'll be in the bathroom."

"Did something happen?" Jake asked roughly thirty seconds after Helen left the table before noticing that Daria was digging through the fridge and had an empty plate in front of her seat. "Daria, did you not get any dinner?! What's happening to this family? Every year I get more money and every year it's not enough! Now I can't even put food on the table for my daughter. It's that's stimulus that's causing inflation! Bastards!"

"I thought there wasn't any inflation this year," Daria said as she grabbed a leftover slice of pie and started making her way to her room.

"That's what they want you to believe!"

* * *

"Way to act like a real parent, Morgendorffer," Helen sighed as she lay in the bath she had prepared for herself. "Take out your frustrations at work on your emotional, teenage daughter. Fantastic job."

Helen had not taken a bath (by herself anyway) in a few years as they had had no purpose for her. A bath for a normal (whatever that meant) person gives them the feeling of relaxation and peace. For Helen, they made her feel like she was wasting her time and therefore an opportunity and therefore her life. For Helen, they were unpleasant so showers she took. But stress had built to the point where they did help.

Despite being a lawyer for many years now, Helen had never gotten good at managing stress. The only mechanism she had developed involved fucking the brains out of someone (and Helen knew how just how 'Helenish', as Amy would put it, the fact that she relaxed with absolute aggression was), but that was not really an option at home with two observant daughters around. She could get a motel room for herself and Jake, but then she'd have to explain what happened and that wasn't going to happen. So in a bubble bath, with her fingers working between her thighs, she was. She felt like an idiot and a mix between a lazy housewife and a pathetic teenager but that was better than how she had felt before.

"I can't let this bother me," Helen muttered to herself. "I have no idea if Anderson making partner is true or not. Paul's a dumbass who probably wouldn't know what day it was if you asked him. And if Anderson is being made partner and not me…Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get there."

* * *

A couple weeks had passed without an announcement still and Helen hadn't dared to ask anyone else their thoughts. She had shoved the matter to the back of her mind, where worry could fester but not overwhelm, and continued to soldier along at work. She was preparing to leave one Sunday morning when an exceptionally shadowy and pale version of her oldest daughter approached the kitchen.

"Daria," Helen said with worry. "Are you alright? You look so…thin."

"Yeah, I'm deciding to go on the Quinn diet of not eating anything," Daria said as she grabbed a poptart out of the cupboard and started rummaging around for a box of cereal. "The veins will make me look so cute."

"Daria, please, what's wrong?" Helen asked looking concerned. "Do you have the flu? Do you need to go to the doctor?"

"I'm fine," Daria said as she found an unopened box and shoved it under her arm. "You don't have to pretend to worry about me just to cross off a part of your good parenting checklist."

Helen felt anger, guilt, and confusion rise up in her along with the worry until some other bewildering thing happened. When Daria and Quinn passed each other, it looked like…

"Quinn," Helen said as Quinn sat down to the table with some celery sticks. "Have you been wearing any new shoes or walking any differently recently?"

"Like, no. Why?" Quinn said as she glanced down as her phone and laughed at an update from one of her friends that she saw. "Oh, like, Katie could hang out with us."

"Do you know if your sister has done something like that?

"Like, of course not," Quinn said as she grabbed her incredibly light breakfast of celery sticks and got up to leave. "She doesn't change, like, anything."

"Well, I just thought I saw her being taller than you and I thought it-"

"Wait, Daria's actually taller than me?" Quinn said struck with fear. "So, I wasn't, like, imagining that yesterday?"

"Quinn, calm down, I was probably just-"

"Got to go, mom, sorry," Quinn said as she tapped a button on her phone. "Jessie, oh-em-gee, do you still have those heels-"

* * *

Helen put her head in her hands and tried to wait for the throbbing to go away, but it was time to head for the firm again.

"Helen, I just want you to know," Kyle Anderson, a black haired, average sized man in his 30s who seemed as he if he had either just grown out of getting acne or was very good at covering it up, said as he approached her desk a few days later. "I made partner!"

"Oh, that's wonderful, Kyle!" Helen said with fake enthusiasm that even covered up the dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't.

"Thanks, Helen," Kyle said looking overjoyed with happiness. "You've helped me out so much here that I have to thank you as well."

"Oh, Kyle, this promotion was all about you, don't flatter me." Kyle Anderson had worked for their law firm less than Helen, had a worse success rate in cases, worked fewer hours a week, and took care of his appearance less than Helen (as his currently creased pants and slightly stained shoes showed).

"Well, thank you again," Kyle said as he shook Helen's hand. "I have to tell everyone else in the office."

As Kyle walked away to share the good news with everyone else, Helen turned to her secretary to inform her that she was going to lunch and might not be back for a bit and was going to have her phone turned off so she wouldn't be able to be reached. She tried to keep any negative emotions out of her voice but did not succeed.

* * *

"Stupid fucking boys club," Helen said as she sat on a curb outside a 7-11 angrily tearing open a box of cigarettes she had just bought with her newly bought lighter in the other hand. "I bust my ass there for a decade and for what? So they can hire some prick who barely had his fucking cord cut? Goddammit, I am better than Kyle fucking Anderson. I work harder, I work longer, I've been there longer, I take on cases that those weasels won't. I put up with all the men there undressing me with their eyes every day. I've taken as much shit as anyone and I smiled. This should be mine, not his. 'Oh, but he really helped with the Genetico case!' bullshit. Genetico has enough money to win any case. His impact was less than butterflies that were flapping their wings. No, he has a dick so he has to be the best candidate available, obviously."

Helen finally gained enough control over her hands to get the cigarette in her mouth and light up. Daria called smoking the only form of self-harm that was still somewhat socially acceptable and she was completely right. The smoke burned in her lungs and with smoking came the knowledge that she was massively increasing her odds of cancer. She was causing this, her. She had some control now. The heat beating down on her didn't matter as much, the sound of traffic seemed less bad, the glare of the sun more bearable, the cracks in the sidewalk more interesting, the bums and other people that occasionally passed her by with interest in regard to her cigarettes and ranting were less visible. Control helped with many things and control was something she grasped a little of right now. Control that the firm wouldn't give her. The chemicals in the cigarette also started to calm her down, but this replaced the destructive but bearable emotion of anger with the more vile ones of doubt and fear.

She had been working at this firm so long and still hadn't made partner yet that maybe it had to be her. She had screwed up sometimes. Some cases could have gone more smoothly and taken less time and maybe she could have done that if she was more attentive. Maybe her "hard work" was really just pointless posturing that pissed everyone else off. Marie Peterson had made partner recently and she was a woman, maybe they weren't all sexist pigs. Maybe she was just telling herself that to explain away her failures. Her mom had always told her she would fail at this, maybe she was right. All those hours at work and horrid semesters at law school and why? A job with long hours that she would never advance in? A marriage that she secretly was bored with and was desperately worried her husband felt the same about? Two kids that she should have spent far more time with and were starting to resent her because of that?

She knew those maybes were probably not true. That sexism did exist, that she could succeed, that her mother was just a bitch who got off on bullying people.

But they could be true, and that was terrifying at times like these.

"I suppose my real gift is being able to spend more time worrying than working despite going in on weekends," Helen sighed to herself as she put out her cigarette. It had been nearly an hour since she had left the office and she had calmed down enough to resume some productive thinking. Worrying about how Kyle Anderson was doing wasn't going to help her at all. If she wanted to make partner, well…She'd just work harder next year. Sighing in resignation, she turned back on her phone and saw over a dozen new messages that had been sent on her smoke break.

"They don't think I'm good enough for partner, but they can't live without me for a single hour," Helen snorted as she clicked play on the first voice message.

"Mrs. Morgendorffer, I'm from the Highland hospital. Your daughter, Daria Morgendorffer, collapsed during school today."

* * *

"Jake, where's Daria? How is she?" Helen cried in a panic as she rushed into the sickeningly white waiting room where her husband and younger daughter were already seated by the window, both looking scared.

"They're running tests on her right now," Jake said pointing a door adjacent to himself and Quinn. His face was twitching and he started moving his hands irritability once his pointing had finished. "Me and Quinn got here an hour ago and she was awake then. God, Helen, I've never seen her so scared before. I should have been looking after her better. What about the paint we used just because it was cheap-"

"Jake, it's going to…She'll be okay, I-Christ, what do I know?" Helen said as she sat down on a chair next to her husband. "She didn't look right, I should have looked into it more, but I didn't and now this is happening."

Jake reached over to hold his wife's hand, but she was already back up, pacing around the room.

"Yes, thank you again, I'll be in when I can," Helen said as she tapped the "End call" symbol on her phone and sighed. Her work had been okay about Helen missing the rest of the day and possibly the next few days .This helped soothe Helen ever so slightly by proving that she wasn't actually working with a Satanic entity (which she had sometimes feared). However, there were obviously more pressing matters on hand. She began her thirty-eighth walk around the small room and was going to adjust the blinds on the window for the seventeenth time when the door to testing area opened and a shaking, pale Daria walked out.

"Daria!" Jake and Helen cried at once rushing over.

"Wow, thanks for showing up," Daria directed at Helen. Her voice was much higher pitched than normally, but the intent was still the same.

"Daria, I am so sorry, I just-"

"It doesn't matter anyway, it's probably nothing," Daria said as she started running her hands through her hair over and over again.

"You're also one of the parents correct?" A blonde, kindly looking woman in her fifties asked Helen. "I'm Dr. Thatcher here."

"Oh, yes, thank you, I'm Helen Morgendorffer" Helen said as she reached out and shook Thatcher's hand, trying to hold her emotions in check for the sake of her daughters. "Yes, I'm incredibly sorry I couldn't be here earlier."

"It's alright. Would you and your husband like to come back to my office to see the results?"

"Yes, we certainly would" Helen said as she moved to follow Thatcher before noticing that Quinn was still seated, still being incredibly quiet with her feet moving a bit too much. "Quinn, aren't you coming?"

"I, uh, want to stay here…" Quinn said with difficultly as she looked down at her feet.

"Too worried that I'll live, sis?"

"Daria! Please, don't, your sister is worried too," Helen pleaded as she looked from Daria's scared face to Quinn huddled form in her chair.

"I'll stay with Quinn, Helen," Jake said squeezing her arm. "You-You and Daria can hear the news-I mean the good news!"

"Thank you, Jake," Helen said as she brushed away from his grasp, trying to ignore the worry that showed on his face as well, and reached out her hand to Daria.

"Yeah, let's see how severe this food poisoning is," Daria said as she ignored her mother's hand and followed the doctor out of the room.

* * *

The doctor's office was one designed to calm and to keep bad feelings away. Abstract, muted paintings that could be mostly be interpreted positively, walls with earth tones, and comfortable chairs made up large portions of the area. Helen wondered whether or not this was a good or bad sign as she and her ill, scared daughter sat opposite to woman behind her desk.

"Daria, it looks like you're going to be okay for now," Thatcher smiled at the girl with the tone of someone who had just started an obviously unfinished explanation.

"You can just skip to the bad news, I'm used to it," Daria answered back looking at her doctor blankly. "Tell me all the food I won't be able to eat and all the visits I'll need to do for this."

"It's a bit more complicated than that. You have a malignant tumor on your pituitary gland."

"C,Ca-Cancer?" Daria mumbled out weakly with the rest of the color entirely drained from her body.

"No," Thatcher stopped her and her shocked mother quickly. "You do not have cancer. The tumor is not spreading. However, it is pushing on your pituitary, causing excessive hormone release that has led these problems you've been having."

"So, so, you'll cut it out, right?" Helen asked.

"That's another complication," Thatcher said as she pulled out a few brain scans of Daria and placed them on her desk. "The tumor is around some very sensitive brain material that we just can't operate around. Surgery would most likely cause serious damage to your daughter's brain."

The signs of obvious distress—Daria looked closer to hyperventilation than Helen had thought possible before and she herself wasn't doing much better—led Thatcher to quickly continue. "But we can treat it. A short round of chemotherapy will likely shrink the tumor to where it won't cause you any issues. You're going to be fine."

"So, when do we get started on this?" Helen asked anxiously.

"'We'? Are you going to get radiated too, mom?" Daria asked.

"We can start in a week," Thatcher said trying to break up the tension between the two women. "Daria, you'll be able to leave the hospital in a day or two and then can get ready for the treatment. I'm sorry to admit that it's unpleasant. However, it's temporary and I think we can work out with your school so that you can study at home during the chemo. And your insurance will cover this."

* * *

"So, why isn't dad driving me again?" Daria asked as she leaned up against the passenger side window as her mother drove up to the clinic.

"You know your father is afraid of places of medicine," Helen explained.

"I didn't know his fear was greater than your fear of spending time doing something other than work." Daria and Helen fell silent for a moment as they glanced at the former farm land that was turning into refineries.

"Daria, I know you're worried and I admit it will hurt," Helen began. The glare of the sun created haze that felt uncomfortable as they drove along down the freeway. It wasn't as uncomfortable to Helen as her unreadable daughter, however. "But remember, they're professionals and…I'm scared too, but everything-"

"Nobody can give you points for 'looking like a good mother' here."

"Daria," Helen answered trying not to be emotional before what Daria was going to have to go through. It had been like this for the last week. Every time Helen tried to show that she cared, she was struck down. "Daria, I'll know you'll be okay-"

"Glad to hear you went to medical school."

They drove on afterward in silence. Daria kept running her hands through her hair.

* * *

"Daria?" asked an attendant who looked to be in his twenties. Daria probably would have seen him as fairly cute if she wasn't shaking badly enough to obscure her vision. "Daria, are you okay?"

"Hate needles," Daria managed to mumble out after a few moments. They were at the clinic, everything was ready save for the IV through Daria's skin. She had managed in a neutral state to get through the rest. She had thought she could not be humiliated by this, but she thought wrong. The old people being treated here as well looked in a different world, one where strength was foreign. These signs of decay were starting to bother her as well. The walls and their dark blue paint were making her sick now.

"Daria, it's for the best," Helen said as she grasped her daughter's hand. "You just have to be brave."

"Yeah, and it's really easy to be brave," Daria said but without shaking her mother's hand off.

There were a few more minutes of Daria trying to breathe, trying to slow her heart rate, glancing at people and at walls that showed nothing, but eventually she let the needle in.

* * *

"Are you feeling okay?" Helen asked as they got back home and Helen held open the door for Daria., who walked into the home with Jake and Quinn waiting.

"Daria!" Jake exclaimed going forward to hug her. "See, you can beat that thing!"

"Your optimism is really going to help shrink this tumor, dad," Daria deadpanned as she got loose of her father's arms and turned back to her mom. "I'm still fine. I'm going to go to my room to read."

Quinn and Jake were hoping for more answers, but Daria stayed in her room for hours afterward.

Daria was starving. Her body needed nutrients and calories to keep up with her growth. Her hunger had gone on for a few weeks, but today was slightly different. She couldn't get the food down.

She knew that this would happen, the doctors had advised her on how to consume the amount of calories she needed during chemo. Shake recipes were given to her and the doctors told her to just remember that this wouldn't last.

But it was hard to think about that right now when she couldn't feel the taste of the leftover spaghetti she had just nuked. It was more like eating a brick than anything her father had produced. She really was going to have to go through everything involved with chemo. The thought made her sick.

Or so she thought before more body indications came through. It was more her body than her thoughts for the later it seemed.

* * *

"How are you doing, Helen?" one of Helen's bosses, Doug, asked as he approached Helen in the lunch room as Helen took a rare break and tried gulped down another cup of coffee.

"Oh, you know, keeping up," Helen lied. She had cut back her hours dramatically to be around Daria, but was still trying to put in the same amount of work. She hadn't been able to keep up her appearances, but was hoping her bosses wouldn't notice.

"Great to hear, Helen," Doug laughed. "But we know that you have a lot on your plate and we want to help."

"Oh?" Helen asked blankly.

"Right, dealing with that oil case when your daughter is ill-"

"Oh, no, I can take care of it," Helen assured as forcefully as she could.

"Helen, you're a firecracker and I love that, but Brent can take care of it," Doug said with a dismissive smile.

"I, umm, thank you," Helen said starting to retreat back to her office. "I just have to get something, but this will really help me out."

"No problem, Helen," Doug grinned earnestly.

It was the only large case Helen had the moment. She had been pouring her being into it for months. Impressing in this area was one of the few ways she could make partner at this firm.

* * *

"Daria, are you okay?" Helen asked as she sat on the edge of her daughter's bed. It was a Saturday, it was three in the afternoon, Daria hadn't gotten up. She didn't respond either. "Daria, I know it's hard-"

"Yeah, it's hard being around you."

Helen tried not to be affected by her daughter's emotional state, but that was exceptionally hard. She swallowed a few times before continuing. "Daria, if there's anything you need-"

"You to leave, I can handle myself."

"…Alright then, Daria," Helen said getting up and walking away. "But if you need anything-"

"I'll get it myself."

* * *

Eating the food that she had to consume was pain. Eating was supposed to be pleasure. Eating was so good that a third of the population of the United States was killing themselves to eat more than they could handle. Daria was starving nearly to death, was surrounded by food, and couldn't stand the sight of it. She had made herself the shakes needed to keep up her nutrition, but she was trying desperately to find anything else of interest in her home.

She knew she needed it; she was dropping pounds and gaining quarter inches every week.

But every time she brought the substance near her, her body rejected it, she couldn't even try it. Her brain was far too fond of reminding her that she couldn't taste, that it was a struggle to get food through her mouth, and an even greater struggle to keep it in her stomach. It was so stupid. Some children in Africa got by with almost nothing to eat while Daria was going to starve with food very close to her grasp.

The shame and desperation eventually overwhelmed her dread and forced her to begin drinking. Her mouth had to work so hard to get this food down. She frantically tried to get her body's natural reflexes to kick in, but they wouldn't. She felt like she was going to throw up and choke, but she had no choice to wait for the liquid to slowly pass through her mouth to start digestion. Taking a sip felt like it took minutes.

When she set the glass back down, she saw that almost all of the stuff remained.

* * *

Helen sighed as she walked to the bathroom. It was one in the morning and she should be asleep by now, but couldn't. She didn't have to use the restroom too badly, but stubbing toes in the dark had become an attractive proposal after two hours of staring at an electric clock she was certain was broken.

A few muted "Oww, god, why do Jake and Quinn leave this shit in places like this"s later, Helen was at bathroom entrance and was dismayed but unsurprised to see Daria there looking intently at the mirror.

"Is your stomach okay?" Helen whispered to her daughter. Daria responded badly to this and jumped back a good ways and nearly lost her balance.

"Ye-yes, my stomach's fine," she said as she clutched her head.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry, I know it's late," Helen apologized as she looked at her daughter. Daria had been avoiding her for a few days after her chemo passed the two week mark and she looked slightly different. "Daria, are you dying your hair?"

"I like it, it's a warmer shade and it's good that you can still care about your body during-"

"It's a wig, okay," Daria hissed as she pulled the hair away to reveal her bald, slightly nicked scalp. "Thank you for your terrific awareness and sensitivity, mom."

"Oh, Jesus, Daria, I'm so sorry-"

"Just go. I don't want to hear you talk about how I should blow up my boobs to be 'warmer' and more like Quinn," Daria said as she started to twist the threads of her new wig.

"Daria, I never mentioned or meant to imply-" Helen answered looking stricken.

"Leave me alone."

"I really am sorry, Daria if I can do anything-"

"You've done enough, thanks."

* * *

"Helen, are you alright?" Her secretary asked from a cubicle a few feet from Helen's desk. Helen was reserved and looking over her notes.

"Oh, I'm fine," Helen answered with a weak smile.

"Ahh…Well's that good to hear. I know it's been rough for you."

"Yes, well, Daria is fighting through it," Helen said glancing back down at her files.

"It's just been that," her secretary started again, "you've been so reserved recently. And, I don't mean to be rude, but you haven't really been as engaged. I think you've been looking at that page for the last half-hour."

"I think you have work to do Nancy," Helen said dismissively.

"Alright then," the woman said as she dropped her eyes. "I'm just worried about you, Helen."

"There's no need."

"Helen, could I come in?" Kyle Anderson asked with a light knock on the open door.

"Oh, of course," Helen answered looking up from her notes.

"Helen, I want to know how sorry I am about what's happened to your daughter, I hope she pulls through."

"Well, thank you, I could use all the support I can get," Helen answered with a toothless smile.

"Well, that's great to hear," Anderson said with a grin. "Oh, and Helen, there was all this paperwork recently about that follow up on for FrakIt Inc and I've just gotten so wrapped up that I haven't been able to look at it. Could you handle some of that, Helen?"

"Absolutely, of course," Helen answered the statement that didn't sound like a request at all. "I can handle that."

"Love you, Helen, thanks," Kyle said as he began to leave. "And I hope everything works out for your daughter."

"Thank you," Helen said, dropping her eyes back down.

"You know that that case has FrakIt being sued by 800 different parties, Helen," Nancy, who couldn't help but listen, piped up after Kyle left. "And Anderson won't credit you at all with this. He's taking advantage of you."

"I don't want to fight right now, get back to your work, Nancy," Helen responded without looking up.

* * *

Helen wandered around her house in a daze feeling little. It had been another day of tedium that hid desperation and despair. Her work putting a ceiling on what she could do had caused anger and depression at first, but that faded away to the feelings of inevitability. She had tried to stop thinking about her firm to start thinking about her family, but that invariably lead to thoughts of Daria and those thoughts scared her even more. Despite the medical assurances, she was terrified that something was going to go wrong. So, with that around her, the only thing her brain could do to keep her going was shut her feelings down for a while. She couldn't deal with all of that at once.

But it was hard to do anything when you were trying not to feel anything. Helen's work had been terrible for a couple of days. Bad research, lacking presentations, poor negotiation, questionable logic; she had gone through the gauntlet of errors. She just couldn't get engaged in her work. She couldn't get engaged out of work either despite her husband's best efforts. It was like she had a parasite that she had sacrificed her will to in order save her sanity.

So in this haze of emptiness, Helen wandered into the kitchen and began to make herself a cup of coffee to try to jolt herself back to being able to think. This plan had not worked many times now, but…Well, she couldn't think of anything better. The house was quiet. Quinn had dragged Jake out to do shoe-shopping and Daria was still in her room, reading.

She wanted so desperately to talk to Daria in case she didn't have the chance again. And she also greatly feared each opportunity. She was worried that she was hurting Daria, she was worried that she would let Daria hurt her. She didn't know if Daria was just a scared girl or if she was a terrible mother and person. She was too afraid to discover that answer though. Part of her had hated herself for this. Specifically, it seemed to be a part of her that influenced the release of chemicals involved in stomach pain. Even in her muted emotional state, she felt some self-loathing and humiliation for these thoughts and actions. However, her shell and her fear still kept her from talking to her daughter.

The kitchen was mess. The family couldn't be bothered to pay attention to detail in an area as meaningless as this so it didn't shine anymore. The normally brown walls had old specks of yellow dotted on from the sputtering needed to create her adult beverages and Daria's shakes. The blender was out on the on the granite counter top next to several exposed knives, covered in coconut shavings. They hadn't had coconut in weeks. The sink somehow had a pair of scissors in it. Teabags were scattered in a wide distance around the trash can.

There was an open, quarter-filled carton of milk next to the sink; it had expired three days ago. Sighing, she lifted it over the sink and began to dump it, hoping vaguely that Jake hadn't drunk too much of this. As the last drops drained away, she turned to drop the carton in the recycling bin when she noticed something odd looking in the bin.

The smoothness and shininess of the material stood out in the drabness of cardboard boxes. She set down the milk carton and reached inside to grab it, feeling odd. It was curled up tightly and was slightly torn, but she was able to unroll it without more harm. A glance at the full page was able to tell her that it was a page from one of Daria's textbooks. Helen frowned and started moving some of the discarded cracker and cereal boxes in the bin. She began to find more pages that looked like they were from Daria's textbooks.

* * *

"So, today is the last day," Helen said to her pale, silent daughter as they drove along to the chemo clinic. "No more chemo after today."

"Yeah, it sure helped," Daria answered with obvious signs of growth stretching her clothing.

"Daria, we don't know what it's done," Helen responded. Daria bit back any extra retorts and there was silence.

"Do you ever wonder," Daria began after a lengthy break in conversation, "how much of you is determined by random chemical reactions?"

"Daria…"

"Ever since I started this treatment, I haven't been able to think."

"It's because you're exhausted, it happens to everyone going through this."

"But it makes you wonder about…How many of the differences between me and the people I hate can be explained by...conditions at birth. If I was born with a brain that didn't have the right levels of potassium or serotonin across my brain's connections, maybe I would be like them."

"Daria, you determine so much of what you are. You worked to be the person you are," Helen said taking one hand off the wheel to reach over to hold her daughter's hand, but Daria had moved closer to the window and out of reach.

* * *

"Daria, how are you today?" Thatcher asked with Daria and Helen sitting in her office, waiting for the news.

"Your people have been scanning my brain for the last four hours, I think you should know."

"Well, we can't tell the toll that chemotherapy has taken on patients with those yet. A month is nothing to sneeze at, you've been very brave," Thatcher concluded with a weak smile.

"You could probably just look at me to figure that part out." Daria skin was stripped of fat and exposing more skeletal features than the norm. Her eyes were red, the skin underneath was dark. Her hands and feet moved irritably. "You've seen my scalp too."

"Well," Thatcher said waiting for any other response from Daria or Helen before continuing on, "Daria, we think that you need to start treatment here at the hospital."

"So did my chemo go doubleplusgood or doubleplusungood?"

"The chemo didn't make you worse-"

"Now that's encouraging," Daria said immediately glancing down. Helen felt her stomach churn.

"But your tumor has not shrunk and your body is starting to release dangerously incorrect quantities of your various hormones."

"So, what would this treatment involve?" Helen asked as she started to fold and unfold her hands.

"Your daughter would be at the hospital with a machine monitoring her chemical imbalances while we treat her tumor with a variety of more innovative drugs that will be released into her from an IV," Thatcher said solemnly. "And your insurance will cover this as well."

"Is there another option?" Helen asked weakly.

"Unfortunately, no," Thatcher said as she glanced sadly at the young girl trying to look small.

* * *

Daria was soon hooked up to machines and monitors that could do the tasks that her brain apparently couldn't anymore. IVs pumped in hormones to her blood. These hormones were supposed to regulate her ability to live and shrink the tumor that had crippled her. Her face was pale and stretched; her wig stood out as obviously fake. The rest of her body was in a similar, though less visible, state.

Helen looked at her daughter in despair from her seat next to Daria's bedside. You always heard about the fighters in stories of disease and sickness, but Daria looked like she had little fight in her. Daria could seem to observers to be one who gave up in the face of adversity, but Helen had never seen her that way. Helen saw her daughter as a girl determined enough to fight for what she believed in. She took the hard way because she thought it was right. She could grind through when she needed to. The doctors said that Daria still had a better than 60% chance of surviving this, far too low, but good enough for hope. But Daria didn't seem to have hope left. She just stared at the wall, not moving, almost seeming not to comprehend. Helen believed in her daughter's ability to get through this, but was terrified that her daughter didn't share her belief.

"And you're all setup, Daria," the nurse attending to her said as she the last monitor was checked. "We should have you up and about in just a few weeks."

Daria didn't respond or seem to hear. She continued to stare at the walls of her room with eyes seeming unfocused. Her body was limp.

"Hey, this place is nice!" Jake said as he walked into Daria's new room with Daria's possessions in his arms. Quinn entered the room more timidly.

"Absolutely, Mr. Morgendorffer," the nurse smiled. "You have nothing to worry about with your daughter here; we're going to provide her the best care possible."

"Hi, Daria," Quinn said as she played with her hands. "Umm, this place isn't, like, bad at all…"

Daria made no response to Quinn's attempt at conversation. Quinn responded by looking at her mother worriedly, then to the floor when she saw Helen's scared face.

"Daria's, like, going to be alright, right, mom?" Quinn asked as Jake drove them home from the hospital for the night.

"Well…" Helen began as she tried to assure her younger daughter that everything would be alright. But then Daria's face came to mind. Daria's eyes, which looked like they didn't understand for the first time in years, and mouth, paralyzed with the shadow of a gape that Daria only wore during fear, invaded her mind.

"Well…I don't know, sweetie," Helen said as she leaned against the passenger side door. Jake gulped, and Quinn began to stare out of the rear window. No one talked for the rest of the trip.

* * *

"Mrs. Morgendorffer, we need your go-ahead to start Daria's on a new treatment of hormones," Thatcher said as she approached Helen in the hall.

"Jesus, step outside the room for a minute to get some water and more bad news comes on the way." Helen sighed as she looked back instinctually at her daughter's room. Jake was trying to engage Daria in conversation, Daria seemed too worn down to protest.

"Well, I wouldn't call it bad news."

"Listen, I'm an attorney, I know when things are running like shit, you don't have to put sugar on top of it," Helen said as she raised her water cup to her head before grimacing. "You don't deserve that, I'm sorry."

"No, it's no problem," Thatcher answered solemnly. "I know this is a painful period for your family. Daria will make it through though."

"I hope so," Helen murmured looking back at Daria. Daria had barely changed in the two weeks since she was placed in hospital care. She talked to her family and her nurses only when it would be more straining to be quiet. She wasn't reading anymore. She didn't contradict things that she hated, that she knew were stupid. She didn't seem to have particular views about anything. She had taken off her wig as specks of hair began to grow back on her scalp, but that was the only thing it had looked like she had done. According to the nurses attending to her, she hadn't asked for anything in the time she was there. She just laid there in her bed.

"She'll make it through," Thatcher said, walking up to Helen and putting her hand on Helen's shoulder. "Just don't lose hope."

* * *

"How are you feeling today, Daria?" Helen asked her daughter. Another few weeks had passed, Daria had gotten worse. Helen had come alone today as Jake and Quinn were ill.

Daria didn't respond; her face was turned away from Helen, staring at the wall. A few moments passed. Helen looked outside the window and saw the day turn to rain.

"Daria, the doctors have been talking about—"

"How was your day today?" Daria asked as she too turned to watch the rain.

"Umm, it was fine, thank you," Helen answered taken aback. Daria hadn't asked many questions about her or her work since this illness…Or before.

"Have you been suing or defending anybody?"

"Well, it's mostly been big fracking and agricultural companies recently. I haven't been in the courtroom personally too much though. Daria are you feeling—"

"Why not?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you been in the courtroom?"

"Well, lawyers spend most of their time outside of it anyway, but I've taken on a reduced role at work as well," Helen continued, glancing at her daughter in bewilderment.

"Well that sounds dull," Daria answered, continuing to stare out the window.

"It's not as exciting as it used to be, but you are more important. Daria, is everything alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Daria?"

* * *

"—so we're hopeful about this treatment because of what the blood scans have shown," Thatcher told Helen as she described the new hormone regimen that Daria was going to receive. More time had passed, Daria was still getting worse.

"Just let me talk to my daughter for a moment," Helen said glancing through the window to look at Daria. "I need to think."

Helen walked into Daria's room with her senses being assaulted. Her mind had associated this room with pain, waste, and death so that's what she imagined to fill her nostrils. No matter when the service staff had cleaned last, she smelt and felt the same sensation. It was a bad experience coming to this room. However, she was there constantly because the feeling of being away from her daughter was even worse.

"Daria, how are you today?" Helen asked as she sat in a chair next to Daria's bed. Daria was looking away, staring at the rays of light shining through her window.

"Daria," Helen started a few moments later, "I've heard from the nurses that you're not walking enough. You really need to keep your strength up."

"How did it feel to meet dad?" Daria asked suddenly.

"Daria, I've told you that story dozens of times," Helen responded in confusion.

"Yes, but I want you to tell me in detail what actually happened. I remember dad saying that you had given a 'Disneyed" version to me."

"Daria, why are you interested right now?"

"Yes, why should I focus on how I was conceived before I reach my death."

"You're not going to die," Helen whispered back with far less force than she wanted.

"Just tell me the story."

"Daria, are you sure you want that?" Helen answered with an unconscious blush forming on her cheeks.

"Yes."

"Oh… Oh, alright then. Well, we were in college at the time and it was a Van Halen concert. Me and my friends were drunk—I don't recommend that—and well… I was talking to some boy and Amy—she was there for god knows why—starts saying that guys are only interested in me because of my, erhm, assets…"

"And?"

"Well… So I—remember, I was drunk—decide that I'm going to get back at my sister for that joke. So I got a blue marker from somewhere, write down my phone number, and, ahh…flashed the crowd."

"You wrote down your phone number on your breasts?"

"…Yes."

"And then exposed yourself to thousands of people?"

"So then dad called you from a number that he found from staring at your boobs."

"You said you wanted details," Helen said with her face red like a tomato.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. How did you get to… you know, being married and having me?"

"God, it was hard at first," Helen continued with her red deepening. "The first two days after the concert were horrible. I had an awful hangover and the phone would not stop ringing. Every time it rang, I wanted to die, both from the throbbing in my head and the embarrassment I felt. Your father called a few days after that. I was wary with him, like everyone else who had called, because you don't want to talk to a guy who only knows you because he once ogled your breasts… But your father sounded so sincere and so scared that I just felt some affection to him. He sounded like he cared so… We agreed to go on a date."

"So you decided to go to an isolated place with a man you had never seen with the only shared knowledge between you two being your cup size?"

"Now that's not true. We had talked for a long time on the phone and I picked an open place with lots of potential witnesses—don't tell your father that," Helen said as she thought back to her first meeting with Jake. "It was so awkward on our first date. There were these horrible long periods of silence and all those moments when it feels like the mood just dies. We eventually started talking about how much we hated religion somehow. He thought it was a tool to use against the working class, I thought it oppressed women. It was the stupidest thing to bond over something we hated. But then we started talking about things, started feeling like it was fun to be around each other. We weren't as embarrassed together. I found your father to be a caring man and he apparently thought I was wonderful as well. We could talk about things and we're willing to have our views bend and change a bit. And then we were together."

"And that's the whole story?" Daria asked, still looking away from her.

"Well, no, the whole story would take several years to tell."

"How were you able to go out with him?"

"Well, I mean, we agreed to meet at—"

"No, how you were able to talk to him without feeling like… Whenever I talk to someone I worry that they're going to hate me, that they're going tell me that they don't want to be around me, that they'll ignore me. They'll make me feel like I'm worthless. And you knew that you had embarrassed yourself before."

"Daria," Helen answered struggling for words as she looked at her daughter, still staring at the wall, in confusion, amazement, and sadness. "I, I just—Daria, you can't let people—oh who am I kidding, lecturing you won't help. You're smart and have probably told yourself a million times not to let other people hurt you. And I know that it's so hard doing that. Being kind to yourself and others… is rough. Every time I've had a relationship end with someone and most times I've screwed up a deal at work, I've felt all those things you've thought. Just that feeling of pain. Knowing that someone you care about doesn't care about you. Being reminded how badly you can screw up. Feeling like you're not smart, not worthwhile…I had all those worries about feeling those emotions when I met your father, but I felt that I could keep them at bay. Even when I thought about my dumbest moment, getting drunk and flashing all those horny teenage boys, I still had this…something that I had learned to grasp on to. Where I knew that I had screwed up, that I had been an idiot, but, overall, I was still me. I still had my morals, my convictions, my passions, my desires, my decisions. Even with that crappy choice of drinking too much, I knew I would be okay, that I would just have to tell myself that I was alright still even if things went to shit. And I knew that I would believe it."

"And how can I do that?" Daria asked as she turned to look at her mother, her face still unreadable.

"I, well, Christ, you'd think as a lawyer I should be able to articulate myself, but I guess not. I can't tell you how to get there because I can't articulate well enough, but…you are amazing, Daria, and I love you because you're amazing. I know that probably won't help you too much and I'm sorry I can't help you more, but that's all I can give you now. I wish I could help you more."

"No, you have helped me, thank you, mom," Daria said as she leaned in to hug her mom. Helen closed her arms in a daze of confusion as she responded back. After a moment, they broke apart. Daria lay back down on her bed and stared back out through the window again.

* * *

"Hello, Daria," Helen said as she closed the door to Daria's room behind her.

"Hey," Daria answered back as she took as her eyes off her tablet to greet her mother.

Daria had started to show some signs of activity over the last few days, but her physical presence was still deteriorating. Her skin was off-color and drawn so tightly that it looked as if her bones would poke through. Her hair had grown back, but looks like a series of strings. Black circles still dominated her eyes.

"How are you today?" Helen asked as she sat down next to her daughter.

"Well, my nurse didn't threaten to put her foot up my ass today when I was walking about so I must be doing something right."

"That's funny, all I've heard from your nurses resembled something like 'you can do it, Daria' and 'just a few more minutes.'"

"Words have many meanings," Daria answered to Helen's smile. "I can interpret them as negatively as I want."

"Like a Republican with a story relating to Benghazi."

"Now I have that horrible thought to focus on, thank you, mother."

"You're welcome," Helen answered back ruefully at her daughter's fake outrage. "But you're feeling okay other than the nursing demands?"

"As well as I can feel, hopefully this new treatment is working," Daria said as she looked more closely at Helen's face and frowned slightly. "Meeting today?"

"Umm, yes. The partners wanted to see everyone involved with this case involving a trucking company. We had been defending them, but it turns out that the owner was transporting material for Iranian companies. Obviously, we were discussing strategies on how to distance our firm from them."

"Your bosses sure know how to pick them."

"That's always the trouble with being a lawyer, you will probably help out some real scumbags no matter what you do," Helen sighed. "How did you know I was in a meeting?"

"This is the first time you've worn makeup in weeks. I was getting proud of you for a moment there."

"Oh," Helen said touching her face. "I guess it really has been that long."

"How do you go through every day knowing that you have to focus on your looks for people who should just be judging you for your performance?"

"Well, now that's a hard one," Helen mumbled. "When I was in college I was involved with so many feminist groups and I got along with them mostly, but some of my friends didn't like how I'd dress up so much. I was in the shaved legs part of those clubs and it was always something I thought about. I know that the sexualization of women over everything else has helped to oppress us, I know that it has contributed to the ideas of women being prizes to win. And for times like today, cowardice of breaking societal norms is what caused me to dress up. But for other times, I chose to care about my looks because I like too."

"Please don't tell me it's because you like guys staring at you."

"God, no," Helen said with a shudder. "I mean, of course, boys fighting over you and stammering in front of you is flattering sometimes, and the looks on my boyfriends' faces when I was in lingerie were always super satisfying."

"TMI," Daria said with her face covered in mental anguish.

"Sorry. But anyway, those times were nice, but they were balanced out by those horrible looks I got from some strangers. Being surrounded by people who can't make eye contact and start breathing heavily around you makes you feel like a piece of meat surrounded by hungry dogs. But it wasn't about how men viewed me. It was just… I liked feeling sexy."

"You liked dressing up like a societal construct created by advertising companies and teenage imaginations?"

"You would have loved my college friends so much," Helen smiled back at her daughter. "What you said is what they used to tell me as well, maybe less bluntly though. And they, and you, are partially right. A lot of this 'ideal image' crap comes from overweight business executives in their sixties. But I think they were slightly wrong. No matter how hard you try, you're going to view your body image as a part of you that matters. You'll always care if you look beautiful or not. That feeling may just come from societal pressure, but I ended up thinking it was so engrained to be impossible to fight. And if you're going to care, you might as well have positive feelings instead of negative ones. I thought that everyone should make themselves feel like they're beautiful. I was lucky in that I had pretty traditional taste in terms of what I thought I was sexy and beautiful though."

"Maybe because it was imprinted on you by society?"

"I've wondered about that before and maybe that's the case… But there are too many battles to fight for me not to give into a societal norm that makes me feel really good and that doesn't hurt people by itself. Maybe it's wrong to care about how you look, but it's harder to fight that than rape culture or battered wife blaming. It's hard to fight caring about how you look because it feels like such an innate part of you… At least, it feels that way for me."

"It feels that way for me as well," Daria muttered as she turned away from Helen to look at the window again. "I hate how people judge me and judge other people by how they look, but I'm always looking in the mirror, judging myself the same way. I feel like those airheads I hate when I judge my own looks, but I just can't stop myself from doing it."

"Daria," Helen answered gently, "judging yourself slightly won't anyone. You can want your own body to look beautiful while knowing it's wrong that people judge each other by how they look."

"But it's dumb to care about how I look, it doesn't matter."

"Well, yes, but you can say that about a lot of life in general," Helen smiled sadly. "I think it's sometimes just better to care about the things that appeal to us. As long as those desires don't hurt others that is."

"Damn, guess I can't be a serial killer now without letting you down."

"I know you'll figure it out yourself, Daria. You're too smart not to. But personally, I think it's best to fight the wars that you want to fight while not denying yourself something harmless. And maybe if you take things to absolutes, that makes me a hypocrite, but I think it helps me and helps me help other people. And I think that's more important than hypocrisy."

* * *

"And there you go, Daria," the nurse attending to Daria encouraged as Daria got out of bed to walk around the hospital again. "Good job keeping your strength up."

"Hmprh," Daria mumbled in response as she got into her slippers. "I'll be back when you're not so positive."

"I hope not," her nurse laughed.

Daria went to step out of her room with her equipment behind her when suddenly she felt light-headed. She waited for a couple of moments for the sensation to pass. Instead, the feeling stayed. What changed is that the floor approached her at a high velocity.

* * *

Helen was in Daria's room when Daria finally woke up. Helen had been there for hours. As soon as the hospital had called, she had rushed out of work to get to her daughter. Helen saw Daria look around in confusion for a moment as she touched her face. After mouthing wordlessly for a moment, Daria seemed to understand and then she turned away from her mother.

"Daria, you had a seizure," Helen told her daughter. "The hormone imbalance caused some kind of synapse connection failure or something, but the doctors are already working to fix it."

"Will they be able to fix the next problem that comes up?" Daria whispered back hoarsely.

"Yes, they will," Helen answered back trying not to cry. "And they'll figure out how to shrink this thing before you have any… well, more serious problems. "

"You're not going to die."

"Of course I will," Daria croaked out, back still to Helen.

"Daria, you just can't, can't give up hope. You'll—"

"What? Discover immortality? No matter if they can fix me here, this is how everything will end. And that's if my life goes well. I'm just going to be lying in a hospital bed as my body starts malfunctioning. Maybe it's this week, maybe it's in sixty years, but it will happen."

"Yes, of course, that's true, Daria, but what matters is right now—"

"So my death won't matter later on? Because you won't have to see it?"

"No, no, I'm sorry, Daria," Helen said, struggling for words and to keep herself together. "Everyone dies, but you're still so young, you still have so much to live for."

"That's bullshit, I'll have just as much to live for when I'm old and then, then it will all be over," Daria responded with her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry-"

"Go away."

"Daria…"

"Leave me alone."

* * *

Helen did not leave the hospital or sleep that night. Jake and Quinn had tried to console her and were rational at times, but they couldn't get through. Helen would often slip away from their company to spend time in a bathroom stall. This time was used to cry. Helen thought she heard Quinn approach her stall once to try to speak, but her youngest seemed too overwhelmed to try to help.

At around one in the morning, Helen managed to convince Jake and Quinn to head home for the night, telling them that she would be home just as soon as she could talk to one of the nurses. Helen could finally be alone with the horrible, barely comprehensible thoughts in her head. She wanted to hold her daughter until the end, she wanted to die instead of Daria, she wished she believed in some faith so that she could hate a higher power. All of the thoughts of everything Daria had done and could become flashed through her mind as almost a taunt, invariably followed up by visions of Daria dying. All the fears of death that had come through Daria's cries came to her and Helen's own morality became another point to consume her with fear. She sat in a waiting chair, consumed with these thoughts up until the morning. No amount of consoling from the doctors or nursing staff could ease her to another area or another state of mind. Except for when the nurses told her in the morning that Daria wanted to see her.

* * *

"Hey," Daria said as Helen entered the room. Both women looked tired and ragged.

"How are you feeling?"

"About as well as I could… I think," Daria said as she began to fidget slightly. "And, umm, I'm really sorry for being horrible to you."

"Daria, you don't need to apologize, I was wrong," Helen said as she grabbed her normal chair and pulled it close to her daughter's bed to sit close to her.

"Well…Maybe that's true—I still do think your argument is kind of bull—but screaming at you to leave when you just cared didn't really accomplish anything other than making you feel terrible and making you cry… At least, that's what I think happened based on how you look right now," Daria concluded with a glance at Helen's red, puffy eyes.

"Daria, I know you were distressed, anyone would be," Helen said as she grasped her daughter's hand. "I only look like, well, this because I was so scared about you."

"I hope I didn't hurt you, but I either did or could have. It wasn't smart, I'm sorry," Daria said as she looked away from her mother. "And I was thinking that I do this a lot. That I do things that might hurt people instead of doing things that could help people."

"Now, that is not true at all—"

"Let me finish. And, since I thought I was dying after all, I started to force myself to have my life flash before my eyes, for tradition's sake. And then I thought of all times I had been cruel to people or didn't try to be with people I cared about because I was scared of being humiliated by them. And all of those memories felt terrible… And that was funny to me since I avoided people because I didn't want to have humiliation or regret that hung over me. So I felt bad, and I made other people that I cared about feel awful as well. So, in… " Daria paused for a long moment, her face furrowed in thought, before continuing. "I was going to make this something about 'in case I die' but… for this, I guess it doesn't matter if I live or die. I can either open up and let in the fear of pain, or never let anything out and just keep the guarantee of pain. That decision isn't impacted by if I die tomorrow or sixty years from now. So… I want you to know, mom… I love you."


End file.
